Ms. Larkin goes to the front of the room and clears her throat. “Okay, students! It’s about time to let that hard work shine.”
I feel my hands shake a little. It’s the sparrows, skittering against my wrists. Shhhh, I tell them.
“The judges will be coming in soon. Remember, they’ll walk around the room looking at projects, and they’ll stop in small groups and expect you to explain the work you’ve done. Be ready to answer questions too!” Ms. Larkin gives us two thumbs-up. “I know you’ll all do great.”
But I don’t know for sure. My face feels hot and splotchy.
When Ms. Larkin opens the door and the first judges walk in, Maya nudges me. “Don’t twist your hands so much,” she says. “Keep them behind your back.”
She’s right. I was squeezing my fingers together so hard my knuckles turned white.
There are about twenty judges altogether, and they spread themselves out across the room. I see three people making their way to my poster. I know one of them: Mr. Bailey, who’s the head of the library. I haven’t seen the other two before. But then a fourth person comes through the community center door and looks right at me. As soon as I see him, I feel a smile stretching across my face. It’s Mr. Hamilton.
“Hello, Claire,” Mr. Bailey says. “Nice to see you here, and what an interesting project!” He squints at the title: “Horses at Work.”
“Um, thanks.” My voice is squeaking. I clear my throat and start over. “Thanks for coming to take a look.” I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth.
“I’m Ms. Wallace,” another judge says, sticking her hand out. That’s when I realize I should probably shake everyone’s hand. I blush, wishing I’d thought of that on my own.
“Nice to meet you,” I say. Then I shake Mr. Bailey’s hand too, and the other judge’s, a woman named Ms. DeSoto. It’s hard for me to look right in their eyes, but Ms. Larkin said eye contact was important, so I force myself to glance at each of them for a moment.
Then it’s time to greet Mr. Hamilton. “Thank you so much for coming,” I say.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Mr. Hamilton winks.
Then we all just stand there, smiling at one another.
“Oh,” I say, realizing I’m supposed to start. “Sorry.”
Ms. DeSoto shakes her head. “No need to apologize, Claire,” she says. “When you’re ready, we’d love to hear about your project.”
For a second, I forget everything I’d planned to say. I can’t even remember my first sentence. I close my eyes for just a second so I don’t have to see all their serious, curious faces staring at me, waiting for me to talk.
That split-second with my eyes closed is all I need. I remember. And when I open my eyes, I’m ready.
For the awards ceremony, we’re all supposed to sit with our families in the audience. It’s not hard to find Mom, Dad, and Andy, who wave at me frantically as soon as Ms. Larkin taps the mic and tells everyone to start moving toward the audience area. I sit at the end of the row, next to Dad, even though there’s a spare seat by Andy too. I’m just not quite ready to talk to him.
“It’s such a pleasure to be here for another History Fair!” Ms. Larkin says. “Thanks to our community judges, who work hard to assess each presentation fairly. And thanks, of course, to these amazing students who surprise me every year with how innovative they can be. I think this might be our best year yet.”
She probably says that every year, but I still smile. We did all do a pretty good job.
Even so, the flutter feeling is coming back, not as strong as it did when I woke up this morning, but definitely noticeable. I breathe deeply and try to tell myself: What’s the worst that could happen? Sometimes it isn’t as bad as we think it will be.
But the worst that could happen is that I don’t win. I don’t get the money. And that wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t mean also not being able to pay for the Therapeutic Riding Instructor certification, which would put us even further away from the therapy business.
And then we’ll definitely have to sell Sunny and Sam.
So actually, the worst is pretty bad.
I clench my fists together, trying to focus on Ms. Larkin’s words instead of the birds tumbling inside.
“I’m so excited to announce the winner of this year’s prize,” she says. “This person’s project exhibited extensive knowledge, creativity, and an ability to appreciate how the past influences the present.”
That could be my project, I think. But it could also be—
“Maya Gonzalez,” Ms. Larkin says. “Could you please come to the front of the room?”
My fingernails dig into my palms and I look for Maya a couple of rows ahead. She takes a quick look back at me, her eyes wide and full of something I can’t pinpoint: It’s not quite sadness, but it looks a little like that.
That’s it, I think. That was my chance, and I lost it.
I watch Maya accept the certificate Ms. Larkin gives her and shake hands again with the judges. When we all get up to leave, I give Maya a big hug. Her project was perfect, and she doesn’t deserve to feel worried or upset about me not winning.
“Congratulations,” I say, trying not to cry.
“Thanks, Claire. We’re so proud of Maya,” Mr. Gonzalez says, his hand on her shoulder. He seems much better already. And seeing the way Maya looks up at him, her eyes shining, makes me feel like the award went to the right person.
Still, cold disappointment settles in my stomach. I picture Sunny and Sam in their stalls, and tears gather in the corners of my eyes.
Mom grabs my hand and squeezes. “Your project looked great, Claire,” she says. “You really did your best.”
Andy has his hands stuffed in his pockets, but he smiles at me. I can tell he wants to give me a hug but isn’t sure if I want one. And I’m not sure I do either.
“Pretty awesome presentation, Little C.,” he says. “What did they think about your legend?”
“I don’t think they believed it,” I say. “But they thought it was interesting.”
“I didn’t really see that coming,” Dad says. “But no wonder you’ve been wanting to go into the woods more often.”
“I’ll have to take you there. You’ll see.” As we head toward the door, I notice Mr. Hamilton standing off to the side. He seems to be waiting for us.
“Hello, Barton family,” he says. “It’s good to see you all again.” Then he focuses on Andy. “And it’s nice to officially meet you, young man.”
“You too, sir.” Andy shakes his hand.
“Claire, your take on my father’s story was certainly interesting,” Mr. Hamilton says. “I love ‘The Legend of the Lakes.’”
“Thanks,” I say. “I wish I could have met Jack. I think he would’ve liked my theory.”
“I’m sure he would have,” Mr. Hamilton says. “But it’s your equine therapy plan that really struck me. I think it would be quite beneficial for our community.”
“It certainly would,” Dad says. “It’s too bad that we—”
“I have a proposal for you,” Mr. Hamilton says, holding up his hand. “When I sold my horses, I wasn’t really thinking clearly. I was sad about my grandkids being far away and thought it was time to move on to something else. But meeting Claire changed that.”
Mom, Dad, and Andy all look at me, their expressions a mix of smiles and raised eyebrows.
“Claire reminded me of the good that horses can do,” Mr. Hamilton continues. “And, maybe more important, of how much we all need to keep going, no matter how hard it seems.” He takes a deep breath. “Now we have a problem. Claire has this great idea for an equine therapy business, and she also has horses, but facilities and money are issues. Meanwhile, I’ve got this terrific barn and indoor arena, but—” He pauses and looks at me with a smile in his eyes.
“No horses?” I ask.
“You got it. No horses,” he says.
Puzzle pieces start clicking together in my mind, but I can’t let myself r
eally believe what Mr. Hamilton’s suggesting until he says it out loud.
“What about starting your equine therapy business at my barn?” Mr. Hamilton asks.
Mom’s jaw drops. “Wow,” she says. “It’s incredibly generous of you to offer. But”—she looks at Dad, then at me, her forehead wrinkling again—“affording the horses has become quite difficult. Financially, it’s too hard for us right now.”
“I understand,” Mr. Hamilton says. “But what I mean is, you could move Sunny and Sam to my barn. I’d be happy to keep them as my own and assume the costs. Honestly, taking care of horses again would be good for me. And Claire could come over to ride anytime. Well, you’d all be there, as needed for the business.”
The floor seems to cave in beneath me. Sunny and Sam—gone, yet still with me.
It’s a path I didn’t see, didn’t ask for.
But maybe it could work.
“I could help train too,” Mr. Hamilton adds. “I don’t think I’ve gotten too rusty.”
Mom’s eyes widen and Dad says: “Are you sure?”
But Mr. Hamilton’s already nodding. “Yes, yes,” he says. “It would be a good start. Then we’ll see where it goes. I’d like to think about adding more horses, actually. If the business expands, you’ll want more than one or two anyway.”
I feel the wings again, fluttering free, but this time they’re lifting me so high in the air I think I could touch the clouds.
CHAPTER 25
I’m in the barn, measuring grain, when Andy walks in. Mom and Dad say he’ll be staying at the house for another week, just long enough to find his own apartment and get enrolled in his agricultural mechanics program. That’s about as much time I have before we load Sunny and Sam into the trailer and bring them to their new home with Mr. Hamilton. I’ve already texted Nari, and she and Pia are going to be our first customers. They’re coming to his place as soon as Pia’s back, which might not be for a while. But that’s okay, because we have our certification to complete, plus we need to set up Mr. Hamilton’s barn and riding ring. And Sam needs to heal. Fortunately, Mom says his cut is looking better already.
I thought I’d feel sadder, having Andy and my horses close by, yet not really here.
But actually, I feel okay.
“Hey,” Andy says. “How do leaves get from place to place?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh my gosh, are you serious?”
“Very.” Andy nods solemnly. “You have ten seconds to answer. Ten, nine…”
“Okay, fine.” I can’t help smiling. This is one of Andy’s oldest jokes. “With an autumnobile.”
“Excellent work,” he says. “The amazing presenter is also an amazing joke-recaller.”
I smile, remembering how it felt for my words to flow so easily. How the judges clapped and asked questions about the equine therapy business I wanted to start, and how I answered every single one and the sparrows never woke up at all.
“I know I didn’t win, but it almost seems like what happened is better,” I say. It feels like looking at Pebble Mountain. Just like Dad said, there really is always another side.
Andy sticks his hands in his pockets and looks at his boots. “I agree. It’s awesome, Little C.”
I hand him Sam’s water bucket. “You know I’m horrible at carrying water.”
“You’re not horrible.” Andy takes the bucket from my hand. “I mean, you’re pretty strong for a twelve-year-old.” He scratches his neck with his other hand and looks down. “You’re pretty strong in general.”
I hear water rushing into the bucket as Andy holds it. And as I stand there listening to the droplets, filling what needs to be filled, I know he’s right. I am strong.
But there’s still something that bothers me.
“Andy,” I say. “I don’t want to be mad at you. But I really don’t understand you.”
Andy laughs. “Join the club. I’m still figuring myself out.”
“No, seriously,” I say. “I guess I can see why you liked Starshine. I mean, it was kind of annoying to read about people like Damian and Marie all the time, when I don’t even know them, but Starshine in general sounded okay.”
“Marie and Damian are my friends,” Andy says. His voice sounds small somehow, like it did when he was younger. “I needed them. Starshine was helpful, but it was scary too, especially at first.”
A sharp stab pierces me. I hadn’t ever thought about Andy being scared. “I just don’t get why you ended up there in the first place. Why you ever decided to—”
“Mess up like I did?” Andy asks.
It sounds harsh, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s smiling in an easy way, like he just figured out how to laugh at something that doesn’t seem at first like it should be funny.
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess that’s it.”
“It’s a fair question.” Andy looks up at the ceiling. Sighs. “Addiction is a disease, Claire. You probably heard that at your support group. I didn’t choose it, but it affects me. It’s something I have to keep working on, and I know how to do that now. Because of Starshine.”
“But why did you start selling the pills?” I ask.
“It’s hard to explain,” Andy says. “I really needed to find a way to keep taking them. That’s part of the disease.”
“I don’t understand why you needed them so much.” I look at Andy, at his eyes part sparkling, part sad.
“You’re my little sister,” Andy says. “And you know me well, but you don’t know everything. I struggle sometimes. Like with fitting in and doing what people want me to do. When I first started taking the pills, it didn’t just make the pain go away, it also—made all those struggles go away too. I mean, obviously it made them worse later, but in the beginning at least, it seemed—I don’t know. Helpful.”
“It never seemed like you had problems fitting in,” I say. “You always had so many friends.” Andy never hated talking to people like I did. I couldn’t picture a flutter feeling ever filling his chest.
But maybe he’s right—maybe I don’t know him as well as I thought I did.
“You can have friends without feeling one hundred percent like yourself,” Andy says. “That was me.”
I don’t know how it feels to be Andy. But thinking about having a problem like addiction, and fighting it, makes me realize I’m not the only one who’s strong. He is too.
“When you left, I really wanted there to be some way for me to fix things,” I say. “I wanted to make you like you were before.”
“That’s not up to you, Claire,” Andy says. “If it were anybody’s responsibility, it would be mine. But I don’t want things to be like they used to be. I don’t want to go backward.”
“Neither do I.” I’m surprised to find I really mean it. “Not anymore.”
“I wanted to say something else too. I know I never explained all of this in my letters, but I just couldn’t figure out how.” Andy’s voice cracks a little, but he runs his hands through his hair and keeps going. “I am sorry, Claire. I wish I didn’t have this problem. I mean, I’ve learned a lot from it, but it’s also really tough. Not just for me, but for you and Mom and Dad.”
“It’s been hard,” I say. It feels important to say it out loud, just like Andy did. “But everyone has problems.”
“I’m still sorry it didn’t work out quite the way you wanted,” Andy says. “Even though the whole equine therapy plan isn’t right for me, I can see why it’s perfect for you.”
My big brother. Legs swinging from trees, sleeping bags under the stars. Wrenches and reins and wheels in his hands.
I stand on my tiptoes and reach my arms around his neck. His jacket smells like motor oil and hay. I don’t want him to apologize. It feels good to really want Andy to do what’s best for him. I can handle what’s best for me. “You don’t have to feel bad. You should do what you want to do. I just want you to be okay.”
“Hey, I’ve got an awesome sister and some worry stones in my pocket,” he says. “How can I g
o wrong?” There are questions in his voice, but his eyes look bright.
“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “You figure Sunny’s up for a ride?”
I’m surprised Andy wants to. He hasn’t ridden in a long time, but that first snow melted fast and the sun’s shining. “You think she can take both of us?” I ask. Sunny’s big, but I don’t think she’s ever carried more than one person at a time.
“I bet she can handle a little walk in the woods,” Andy says.
We lead Sunny out of her stall and Andy starts brushing her. “Let’s go bareback,” he says. “It’s warmer that way, and besides, we can’t both fit in the saddle. We’ll make it quick.”
I don’t ride bareback often, so maybe I should feel nervous, but I don’t. I just get Sunny’s bridle.
Outside, Andy knits his palms together under my boot and gives me a boost onto Sunny’s back. He hauls himself up behind me, and Sunny swings her head around, surprised, but she actually stands still.
“Good girl,” I say, patting her neck. I’m laughing too, because Andy almost slides over the other side of Sunny, just before righting himself at the last minute.
Then we’re moving forward, and the air’s cold, but it feels good, fresh and clean and new. I turn my face up and catch sun on my skin. Sunny nods her head up and down, and her mane sparkles a little in the light.
Andy leans close to my ear. “Want to try and find some wild horses?”
I nudge Sunny toward the woods, where the dark trees bend together. The leaves are all gone now, colors fading into the ground. I can feel the pounding of hooves and the swish of silver-black tails, even though I can’t hear or see them, not yet.
The start of a path unfolds before me, wild and true.
Where it leads is up to me.
Little, Brown Books for Young Readers began publishing books in 1926.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Wild Path Page 17
